Another Holmes
by Potrix
Summary: Sherlock and John both have feelings for each other, neither of them able or willing to admit it. When a family member comes storming back into the detective's life, not only Sherlock's world is turned upside down, Mycroft is affected as well. Meanwhile, John and Greg are just confused. - A story about family, pain and love. Eventual Johnlock / kind of established Mystrade.
1. Chapter 1 - Prologue Part I

**A/N: **Welcome to my first ever Sherlock FanFic! I would just like to mention that English isn't my first language and that I don't (currently) have a Beta for this story, so I won't be offended if you point out grammatical errors. I'd appreciate it, actually. Now, please; read and enjoy!

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**Chapter Summary:** John and Sherlock both discover their feelings for each other - or something like that. Acting on them is a whole different thing, however.

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**Warnings:** Nothing in particular.

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**Chapter 1 - Prologue Part I  
**

The instant the door of 221B Baker Street closed behind them, John found himself in a suffocating embrace, pressed face to toe against the world's only Consulting Detective. He could feel one slender hand on the nape of his neck, gripping almost painfully, Sherlock's other arm around his waist, pulling him as close as humanly possible, strong fingers rubbing slow, comforting circles over his back.

Completely taken aback by his friend's sudden need for physical contact, John just stood there motionlessly for a good few seconds before bringing his own arms up and around Sherlock, hugging him back. The detective tried to move even closer and buried his face in John's hair, nuzzling and inhaling deeply. It was only now the doctor realised the taller man was shaking, violently so, in fact.

"Sherlock?"

There was no answer and John could feel something wet and warm starting to seep into his hair. It took him another minute to contemplate the fact that Sherlock was crying.

"Sherlock, come on, it's all right." he tried to soothe him, running a hand up and down the detective's spine.

Suddenly and without warning, Sherlock pulled back, eyes swollen and red, and cupped John's face with two trembling hands.

"I'm glad you're alive." he choked out and crushed the doctor to his chest again before moving away and dashing up the stairs into the flat. John could hear the door to his room open and close and the 'click' of the lock. Then there was silence.

"Oka-aay." John breathed, mind spinning and knees wobbly.

* * *

Sherlock, for once in his life, was absolutely clueless as to what had just happened outside in the hall. Sure, he _was_ glad that John was alive, of course he was. John was his flatmate, his blogger, his colleague and his friend. That didn't explain the surprising outburst of emotion, however. Sherlock was always glad when Lestrade called with a case, yet he had never felt the need to hug the man. He was glad when Molly provided him with fresh bodies, yet he had never felt the need to hug her either. Or the corpses, for that matter.

With a frustrated growl, Sherlock rolled over onto his back, running his hands through his hair, tugging angrily. The lack of an explanation for his strange urge to be close to John was infuriating. He brought his hands down in front of his face, noticing that they were shaking. This was ridiculous, everything was all right, John had said so. Before he could stop himself, though, Sherlock's brain started imagining how differently the evening could have turned out. He could be dead. Both of them could be dead, in fact. _John_ could be dead.

He shot up and started pacing around the room nervously. What if John had died tonight? Who would have made him his tea tomorrow? Who would have complained about the sliced up liver in the fridge upon discovering it when preparing breakfast in the morning? Who would have sat with him, reading the paper while Sherlock played his violin? Who would have accompanied him on cases, kept him from throttling Anderson and called him brilliant and amazing? But John hadn't died, John was fine, he was downstairs making tea, Sherlock could hear the rustling of the kettle.

Suddenly feeling exhausted, he flopped back down on the bed, face down and eyes closed. John was fine and there was no reason for him to worry. But he couldn't stop himself. Was this how people felt about all their friends? Of course it wasn't and Sherlock knew it. But _what_ was it? Why was John different, how was he different? His eyes snapped open when realisation hit him. He needed John. Not because of the things he did, his medical training or the money for the rent. He needed John because he couldn't imagine going on without him. It was illogical and stupid, he had managed just fine before meeting the doctor and yet there was absolutely no doubt in his mind that he would completely fall apart without him.

And that was scary. Deeply, exceedingly and overwhelmingly scary. Sherlock's mind went blank apart from one single thought;

_'John can never know!'_

* * *

John made himself a cup of tea, took it into the living room and sat down in his chair. Half an hour later, the tea was cold and John was still staring straight ahead, desperately trying to stop the tingling in his stomach. He knew it was pointless, but he wasn't ready to admit to himself what the feeling meant. Not just yet.

_'It's just the adrenaline from almost dying. I had explosives strapped to my chest not an hour ago, of course I'm nervous!'_,he told himself. Yes, that made perfect sense. But it didn't explain Sherlock's more than unusual behaviour. They had been in danger many times before, hell, he had _shot_ somebody only two days after meeting the detective. Sherlock had jumped off buildings, ducked bullets, punched people and had a sword fight with a Russian gangster, but not a single one of those incidents had caused such a violent reaction.

_'You know why that is, don't you?'_, his subconscious piped up and John groaned. Great, now even his mind was rooting against him. Of course he knew why, he didn't need superior deduction skills to figure that one out. None of those situations had put John in danger, it had always been Sherlock facing broken bones and bruises.

John rubbed his face with both hands. Sherlock wasn't a sociopath, he knew claiming so was the younger man's way of dealing with emotions, emotions he very well had, but couldn't handle. It wasn't like Sherlock _couldn't_ feel, he simply didn't _want_ to. The work was what mattered to him, the danger, the excitement and, most of all, the much needed distraction.

But if feelings weren't important to the detective, then what the hell had the scene in the hall been all about?

_'Maybe he does care, maybe he wants to care because it's me.'_ John's heart skipped a beat and he felt extremely light-headed all of a sudden. Sherlock considered him a friend, didn't he? And considering someone a friend meant you cared for them, right? A soft smile spread across John's face and he leaned back in his chair. All that had been needed to show Sherlock that caring wasn't a bad thing after all was a mad criminal, threatening to blow people up if his new toy couldn't solve cases fast enough.

_The cases!_

Of course, how could he have been so blind? His medical opinion, someone to hail cabs for him, make him tea and boost his ego, that's what he was to Sherlock. Nothing more. He even had proof. Wasn't it common for Sherlock to act in order to get his way? To get Molly to bring him coffee or get information out of witnesses. Hell, he'd been doing it on this particular case with the missing guy's wife! John's heart sank and he pushed himself further into the chair, hoping it would swallow him whole.

Sherlock's life would be bloody uncomfortable without John in it, he would actually have to do things himself. Of course he didn't want that and he would use every method known to humanity to ensure his maid didn't run off. _'Because that's what I am, if I really think about it for a moment; a bloody maid.'_ Stupid, manipulative git! John buried his face in his hands, blushing with embarrassment for actually getting his hopes up. He should turn around and leave right now, find a lovely girl and settle down, maybe have a couple of kids and buy a house in the country. That's what he'd always wanted. Someone to share his life with.

_'And I have found him.'_ Yes, the sensible thing to do would be to leave, because as long as he stayed here, he would always come running as soon as Sherlock called. He couldn't help it, he was completely and irrevocably in love with the madman.

_'And he can never know!'_

* * *

By the time Sherlock emerged from his room the following day, John was already finishing up his breakfast. He hovered in the kitchen door for a moment, shifting uncomfortably.

"John, I need to explain my behaviour from last night."

The doctor turned around, back straight, dishtowel clutched in his right hand. He honestly hadn't suspected Sherlock to bring it up again._ 'But that's a good sign, right? Maybe I was wrong and he does-'_

"It wasn't my intention to make you uncomfortable and I realise that I have overstepped some boundaries." Sherlock interrupted his though process. "I know you consider me your friend and I also know that friends are meant to comfort each other. You were upset and I thought you wanted me to comfort you. I understand that it was foolish and that I took it too far. I promise it won't happen again, it was clearly very uncomfortable for both of us and we can't afford tension between us. It would only interfere with the work."

Oh. John looked down at his feet, trying and failing to swallow the lump in his throat. _'So I was right. Congrats to me!'_ Never in his life had he wished to be wrong more than in this instant.

"Thank you, Sherlock. I appreciate it, really. It's good that you understand that you don't have to act in front of me. I know who you are and I don't expect you to be anything else. It's all fine." John smiled, hoping it was convincing.

John had reacted exactly the way Sherlock had anticipated and yet he was strangely irritated by it. A small part of him had been hoping that things would go differently, that John would say or do anything to indicate that what had happened between them was perfectly normal. That, maybe, there would be a repetition at a later point in time. _'This is not what friends want and that's what we are; friends. It has been good and good things don't need to be changed.'_

"Well, I'll see you tonight, I guess." John said, sensing that Sherlock had zoned out, used to the abrupt ending of conversations by now. "Try to eat something today, yeah?" he added and left the room, shrugged on his coat and left for work, feeling absolutely miserable.

"Bye." Sherlock murmured long after the front door had closed. He moved to the living room and threw himself on the sofa, perfectly but unknowingly mimicking his friend's current state of mind.

* * *

When John returned from the surgery that evening, everything had gone back to normal. They ordered Chinese, Sherlock ignored his food in favour of playing with the liver and John watched crap telly, grinning at the detective's annoyed eyerolls whenever the people on the show were 'particularly inane'.

The next few weeks flew by in their normal hectic way apart from one small change; the touching. John often found Sherlock's hand on the small of his back when entering or exiting a building, softly urging him to go faster. Their fingers brushed when John handed him his tea and it had become sort of a habit for the detective to squeeze John's shoulder before saying 'Good Night' and retreating to his room on the rare occasions he actually slept.

John cherished those moments. He knew it was stupid and would only make things worse, but he didn't care.

Meanwhile, Sherlock planned every single touch to the detail, making them seem as innocent as possible. He knew there was something stirring inside him, something he probably shouldn't ignore, something that grew every time he touched John. But he didn't care either.


	2. Chapter 2 - Prologue Part II

**Chapter Summary: **John and Sherlock are not the only ones who have problems expressing their feelings for each other. Greg and Mycroft realise how hard it can be to say _those_ three words to your significant other.

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**Warnings:** some cursing (blame Greg), mentions of violence (nothing too serious)

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**Chapter 2 - Prologue Part II**

"Myc? Have you seen my badge?" Greg was hurrying around the flat, frantically looking for his things. It wasn't like he was already twenty-four minutes late to a meeting with the Superintendent, _not at all_. And his stuff seemed to have the annoying habit of vanishing at the most inconvenient of times. Like right at the moment. He'd found his wallet in the kitchen - the fruit bowl, to be more precise - without any recollection of how the bloody thing had ended up there. His badge, however, was still missing and he hadn't even been brave enough to check for his keys yet. "Bloody fucking-"

Behind him, leaning in the door to the living room, one eyebrow raised, Greg's keys dangling from one long, pale finger, police badge in the other hand, Mycroft cleared his throat. "Language, Gregory."

"You are a life saver!" the DI grinned, stowing the offered items away in his trousers before putting his arms around the taller man's waist. "What would I do without you?" he sighed and stretched, pulling Mycroft into a slow kiss, smiling against the politician's lips.

"Aren't you running late?" Mycroft asked, nevertheless dipping his head to steal another lingering kiss.

"Mm." Greg murmured, tightening his hold on the other man, one hand starting to sneak under Mycroft's waistcoat. "I should call in sick. My head's all hot. Here, feel." he whined, pressing his forehead against the younger man's neck.

Mycroft chuckled, running a hand through Greg's silvery hair before pressing his nose into it and closing his eyes. "You are not ill, Gregory."

"Fine, fine." Greg pouted, stepping back but keeping his hands on Mycroft's hips. "Dinner tonight?" he asked half-heartedly, fully aware that the British Government's schedule barely allowed for regular meal times, much less romantic dinners with one's significant other. Besides, Mycroft hadn't mentioned _'the thing'_ all morning and Greg began to feel silly, having bought a present, gotten his nice suit cleaned and made reservations at their favourite restaurant. Mycroft had obviously forgotten, or didn't think it to be anything special, or-

"Shall I pick you up at around seven?"

Greg stared at the other man, mouth hanging open for a moment before he managed to gather himself. "Erm, yeah, that's all right. Fine. Perfect, actually."

Mycroft smiled and leaned in close, sealing his lips to Greg's once more before turning the man around and steering him to the door.

"All right, I'm going, I'm going!" Greg laughed, picking up his jacket on the way and with a last quick peck on his partner's lips, he was finally on the way to the Yard.

**{oOo}**

It was past lunch before Greg got the chance to take a break. He all but crashed in his desk chair with an exhausted groan, rubbing a hand over his face. To say that the Superintendent had been angry would be a severe understatement. The man had been furious, yelling and lecturing the DI for a good hour, even resorting to threaten him with a couple days of suspension if he should dare to run late again anytime soon.

Greg took a few calming breaths and opened his eyes again, which was when he spotted it. Sitting on his desk, between piles of files and crime scene photographs, almost assessable between his usual clutter; an envelope with his name on it, written in Mycroft's unmistakable and impeccable hand. His heart skipped a beat and he quickly tore it open, producing a simple yet elegant piece of folded paper. He should have known the politician wasn't one for cards. With a sappy grin on his face, Greg unfolded the paper and two tickets landed in his lap. _Football tickets_. Greg's jaw dropped and he reached for the paper.

_Dear Gregory,_

_You are the only one who is able to make watching men __stupidly _chase a ball across a pitch of grass even remotely interesting. 

_Happy Anniversary. _

_Yours,  
Mycroft_

Greg had fished out his phone and dialled the other man's number in a heartbeat, anxious to hear the familiar voice. He didn't have to wait long, Mycroft picked up after the second ring.

_"Gregory?"_

"Thank you! Thank you so, _so_ much! You are amazing!" the DI spluttered, holding the letter up, reading it over and over again.

Mycroft chuckled, sounding way too smug when he spoke again. _"You thought I forgot."_

"Well, kinda, yeah." Greg admitted sheepishly, glad the other man couldn't see him over the phone. Though he didn't doubt for a second that he could deduce everything anyway. "I mean, it's not like six months is such a big deal and lots of people don't celebrate it, so I thought-"

_"You are an idiot."_ the younger man interrupted with a sigh.

"Beg your pardon?"

_"How can you doubt, for even a second, that I want to celebrate the six most wonderful months of my life with the most gorgeous man in London in the most spectacular way possible?"_

"I-" Greg began, choking on his own words. _'I love you, Myc.'_ It was on the tip of his tongue, but he bit it back and swallowed the words back down at the last moment. Mycroft wasn't one for expressing his emotions so freely and Greg feared that, after the politician's fairly emotional confession just now, a declaration of love would be a little overwhelming for the other man. "I'm an idiot." he laughed instead, softly stroking over the edge of Mycroft's letter.

_"Nothing new to report, then."_

"Cheeky bastard!" Greg said in mock exasperation and Mycroft chuckled again. _God_, if that wasn't one of the most gorgeous sounds in the world. Suddenly, there was a commotion on the other end of the line, the opening of a door, the clatter of heels on a wooden floor, a hushed voice, speaking urgently.

_"Work calls, I'm afraid."_ Mycroft sighed after his PA had walked out again.

"Go save the world, wonder boy." the DI said, causing the other man to snort. Then, more apprehensively; "Will you be able to make it for dinner?"

_"Nothing in the world could keep me away from you tonight. Oh, and Gregory? Wear the red silk pants, they're unbelievably sexy."_ Mycroft's voice had gone incredibly low for that last part and Greg stared at his phone for a good thirty seconds after the politician had hung up.

Yes, Gregory Lestrade was head over heels for the British Government.

* * *

The room was entirely too bright when Mycroft opened his eyes and he quickly squeezed them shut again. His head was pounding, he felt nauseatingly dizzy and his shoulder stung in a hellish way. The worst of all, however, was the complete disorientation.

He began to trace back the last events he remembered; lunch with the Prime Minister, paperwork at the Diogenes Club, back to the office, more paperwork, meeting with the Italian colleagues, dinner with Greg-

Something in Mycroft's mind stirred and he frowned - eyes still closed, mind you very much. He could clearly recall the meeting, Guidolin being insufferably flirty and handsy as usual, but everything after that was fuzzy around the edges. He let out a frustrated huff and shifted a bit on the bed, causing a wave of pain to shoot from his shoulder through his chest and arm. No moving around, then.

There was a rustling sound coming from somewhere near him and Mycroft, very carefully and slowly, cracked one eye open again and spotted Greg, fast asleep, slouched in an uncomfortable looking plastic chair, hair mussed up and sticking out in all directions, socked feet propped up on the end of Mycroft's bed and one hand firmly intertwined with Mycroft's own. Reflexively, Mycroft squeezed the hand and the DI jolted awake, confused for a moment before his eyes fixed on the politician.

"_Thank God!_" Greg mumbled, relief washing over his features. He quickly scrambled up and perched on the side of the bed, brushing a few strands of hair out of Mycroft's face. "You stupid, stupid man!" he breathed, leaning down and pressing his lips to the younger man's. "Don't you ever do anything like that ever again!" Another kiss. "You scared the shit out of me!" Kiss. "I very nearly had a heart attack when Anthea called me." Kiss. "I'm so glad you're okay." Kiss. "They wouldn't let me see you at first, I had a shouting match with one of the surgeons." Kiss. "I swear to God, if you had died, I would have brought you back just to strangle you!"

Mycroft watched, perplexed, as the DI rambled on and finally pressed his face into the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply, breathing the younger man in.

"I thought I was going to lose you." Greg sniffled into Mycroft's neck, one hand clutching at the white hospital gown, the other running through the politician's auburn hair.

"What-" the younger man croaked, his throat completely dry, leading to a painful fit of coughs.

Greg was quick to grab the pitcher with water and pour some into one of the provided paper cups before helping his partner into a sitting position. Mycroft winced, pulling a face, but greedily drank down half of the liquid when Greg softly pressed the cup to his lips.

"Do you remember anything?" the DI asked softly once the remaining water was placed back on the bedside table.

Mycroft scrunched up his face in concentration, trying to work through the fog clouding his memories - to no avail. After a moment he sighed and shook his head.

"You were shot, Myc." Greg said, voice strained. The politician grabbed the older man's hand again, giving it another squeeze. "Apparently, you were on your way to the restaurant when someone pulled a gun on you and-" Greg trailed off, rubbing a hand over his face.

"Gregory, it's all right. I'm fine." Mycroft tried to smile reassuringly, but the gray-haired man snorted.

"This time you are. What about next time? Or the time after that?"

"If I'm not mistaken, you get shot at quite regularly and only just escaped an exploding warehouse four weeks ago." Mycroft raised an eyebrow at the other man.

Greg's lips curved up into a smile. "That was entirely your brother's fault, you know." he chuckled and relaxed slightly, running his thumb over Mycroft's knuckles. "It's just...I was _so_ worried about you, I wouldn't know what to do if you ever...you know."

Mycroft's throat suddenly felt incredibly tight and he quickly looked away, letting his gaze wander over the DI. He had dark rings under his eyes, his clothes were rumpled, at least three days old and his neck seemed stiff from sleeping on uncomfortable hospital furniture.

"How long have I been here?"

Greg checked his watch. "About 60 hours, including the surgery."

"Have you been here this whole time?" the younger man asked, surprised, biting his lower lip.

"Of course, where else would I go?"

Mycroft swallowed thickly. The truth was, he wouldn't know how to handle Greg getting hurt or...even worse. Still, he hadn't expected the other man to wait by his bedside for _days_ - which was ridiculous, now that he thought about it; he'd do the exact same thing if the situations were reversed. "Gregory, I-" he began, astonished by what had almost come out of his mouth. _'I love you.'_ The words seemed so simple, yet, somehow, Mycroft wasn't able to say them. He couldn't be the first one to say them. What if it was too soon? What if he scared Greg away? What if - God forbid - Greg didn't feel the same way about him? What if-

"Myc?" Greg frowned down at him worriedly.

"Come here." Mycroft sighed, lifting his good arm for the older man to snuggle close and the DI complied happily.

Yes, Mycroft Holmes was hopelessly in love with a certain Detective Inspector from New Scotland Yard.

* * *

The two men lay on their sides, facing each other, their legs tangled under the covers, breathing heavily and enjoying their post orgasm bliss. They opened their eyes at the same time and locked gazes, equally content smiles spreading across both their faces.

And, unbeknownst to each other, the British Government and the Law and Order of London had the very same thought; _'I love you!'_

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**A/N:** So, now we know where our four main characters stand and things really get going in the next chapter. Also, chapters will be significantly longer from now on. I hope you enjoyed the story so far and if you have the time, please leave a comment and tell me what you think about it - positive or negative.


	3. Chapter 3 - Another Holmes

**A/N:** Here it is, the first 'real' chapter. Sorry for the long wait mates, but work and uni started again, meaning real life got in the way of my fanfiction writing. Also, the characters may seem a bit OOC at some points, which is intentional at my part. I wanted to show their more human sides, the ones we don't really get to see in the series. I hope you enjoy it regardless.

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**Chapter Summary:** John meets another member of the Holmes family and yes, she's exactly like them. Or is she?

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**Warnings:** swearing, (mentions/descriptions) of violence

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**Chapter 3 - Another Holmes**

"John?_ John!_"

"Sorry, what?" John asked, confused, brought back to the here and now by an annoyed Sherlock.

"You weren't listening to me." the detective complained.

"Yeah, well, now you know how _that_ feels." the doctor scoffed and Sherlock began to pout, nevertheless keeping his hand on the doctor's thigh. John turned away to hide his smile.

"I'm bored, John." Sherlock whined after a moment, throwing his head back with a grunt.

"You _just_ solved a case. You can't be bored already, Sherlock!"

"That was over an hour ago!"

"Unbelievable." John sighed and paid the cabbie. Sherlock huffed and followed him up to the door of 221B. It was slightly ajar and they both stopped in their tracks, sharing a 'this can't be good' look.

Very carefully, Sherlock pushed open the door and peeked into the hall. It was dark and quiet. He slid inside, immediately spotting the jacket hanging over the banister. He picked it up to inspect it more closely. '_Men's leather jacket in a small size, faintly smelling like perfume, belongs to a woman. Well worn, a personal favourite.'_ He brought it closer to his face, sniffing the black material. _'Expensive unisex scent, mixed with the smell of what Mrs Hudson would call Herbal Soothers and beer, Guinness, spilled on it only a few hours ago.' _He reached inside one of the pockets, producing a pack of matches from a hostel a few blocks over. _'Only just arrived in London early this morning, the hostel was the only thing still open and taking in customers.'_ He sniffed the jacket again. Marlboros, black tea and a very familiar scent he hadn't smelled for what seemed like ages.

A grin spread across Sherlock's face and he tossed the jacket to John, already sprinting up the stairs. '_This should be interesting.', _he thought and stormed into the sitting room. Sprawled out on his chair, legs dangling over one side, head over the other, was a woman, hair wet and wearing a pair of his pyjama bottoms and a velvet silk shirt. _'One of my favourites, of course.'_ the detective huffed and walked closer.

"Took you long enough, Lockie." the woman smirked up at him and excitedly wriggled her toes.

"How long have you been here?" _'She would have taken a shower immediately after arriving, there is still residual dampness in the air; less than an hour.'_

"About forty minutes."

"Mycroft-"

"Is getting old." she grinned and Sherlock chuckled. He would have expected his brother to appear in a cloud of smoke the instant the woman set foot into the flat. "Or has been distracted."

"By a piece of cake, I'm sure."

They looked at each other for a moment before breaking out in giggles.

"Sherlock? What's going-" John began as he appeared in the door, but never got to finish his sentence. His eyes wandered to the young woman in the detective's chair. He automatically clenched his fists and took a step closer to Sherlock. The woman merely quirked an eyebrow at the motion.

"John, close your mouth." Sherlock said, a hint of irritation in his voice.

"Yes, Doctor Watson, it's not nice to stare." the woman agreed, inspecting him with an uncomfortably scrutinising efficiency.

"You're cold." Sherlock observed, nodding at her bare feet. She rolled her eyes and held up her hands in an 'Oh, please!' gesture - which looked quite ridiculous, given her halfway upside down state.

John frowned at their exchange. "You two obviously know each other?" he asked and jumped at the sound of the older Holmes brother's voice behind him.

"One could say that." Mycroft sighed and John frowned. He'd never seen the man _sigh_ before. He sounded exhausted. "Where have you been?"

"Here and there." the woman shrugged. "Why? Are you saying that you _lost_ me, Mycroft?" she teased.

"Do not test my patience, Olivia!" the man snapped, his usual mask of indifference and superiority starting to crumble.

John's jaw dropped. He had most definitely never seen _the British Government_ like _that_.

"Do you realise what you have done?" the older Holmes continued angrily and the woman got up, meeting his gaze. "A year. Nearly _a year!_"

"What do you care?" she barked back, glaring at him. "_Why_ do you care? Caring isn't an advantage, remember?" she added cheekily.

Sherlock made a smug sound and Mycroft turned to fix him with a pointed look. "You-"

"Leave him alone, this is no one's fault but mine, Myco." the woman insisted and after a moment, Mycroft's features softened and he reached out, placing a hand on her cheek before pulling her into a hug, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. Humming happily, the woman closed her arms around his waist and buried her face in the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply.

"That's it, I quit." John sighed and let himself fall back on the sofa. He wasn't used to this amount of emotion being displayed by either Holmes brother and, frankly, it scared the ever living hell out of him.

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock asked, quickly sitting down in his chair now that the woman had moved.

"What? You almost get yourself blown up and I can't come home to check on you?"

John froze in his seat. _'Home?'_

"Your concern is appreciated, but completely unnecessary."

"_Unnecessary?!_ For fuck's sake, Sherlock, I-" she began to shout and moved away from Mycroft, who instinctively grabbed her wrist to hold her in place. There was a momentary flicker of fear in her eyes and the older Holmes let go immediately, looking at her apologetically. After a moment, she nodded and smiled.

John watched the scene in front of him with increasing curiosity. Reading either Holmes was exceedingly difficult at the best of times, and having Mycroft's emotions practically painted on his face for once was beyond unsettling. _'At least that disproves Sherlock's theory that he's a robot.'_

"Do keep in touch." Mycroft raised an eyebrow at her and the woman stepped closer, rubbing the side of her nose against Mycroft's in a clearly intimate gesture. Having gained back his usual composure, Mycroft cleared his throat, straightened his tie and, with a courteous nod in John's direction, walked out of the flat.

"I used your shower and some of your clothes. I hope you don't mind." the woman said tauntingly and picked up Sherlock's violin once the door had fallen shut behind the older Holmes.

John looked over at his friend, but was not prepared for what he saw. Instead of being angry or annoyed - as John had suspected - Sherlock was smiling at her warmly, his eyes darting over her features, obviously deducing what she'd been up to since their last meeting.

"It's fine." the detective said after a moment and she beamed at him and began to pluck the strings, pacing around the room.

"Sorry to interrupt whatever it is that's going on here, but would someone be so kind as to fill me in on the situation?" John demanded when he realised that the two of them were obviously done talking.

"You haven't worked that out yet?" The woman quirked an eyebrow at him, looking thoroughly surprised.

"He is dreadfully slow sometimes." Sherlock winced and the two of them shared a knowing glance.

"And you can stop insulting me anytime you feel like it."

Sherlock just rolled his eyes and snorted, but the woman actually seemed to feel bad. "Sorry, I tend to forget that - well, how most people are." she shrugged sheepishly.

"Don't worry, I'm used to it." John grimaced and shot a glare in Sherlock's direction.

"All right then, story time!" she grinned and her eyes lit up.

"Go and put on something warmer first." Sherlock commanded, holding out his hand for the instrument.

"I'm capable of deciding what to wear, thank you very much."

"You're cold."

"I'm perfectly fine."

Sherlock, utterly unimpressed, raised an eyebrow. "You're cold. Go put on something warmer."

"Ne me choie pas." the woman groaned, purposefully setting the violin down somewhere out of Sherlock's reach.

"Maintenant!" Sherlock said sternly and they glowered at each other for a moment before the woman turned around to leave.

"Va te faire foutre." she murmured and even though John's French was more than a little rusty, he got the feeling that it was something rather nasty.

"Ne fais pas l'enfant." Sherlock called after her and got an angry "Débrouille-t-en!" in response.

Neither of the men said a word while the woman was gone, both of them in their own thoughts. John was trying hard to make some kind of sense of the situation and watched Sherlock, who looked surprisingly torn about something.

"This better?" the woman asked, snapping them out of their thoughts. She was now wearing a pair of thick woollen socks, one of John's jumpers - _Great, another person using my things without asking! - _and what John recognised to be one of the detective's robes, tightly wrapped around herself. She looked utterly adorable and strangely vulnerable, suddenly appearing a lot younger than what the doctor had thought her to be.

"Yes." Sherlock said simply.

"All right, what would you like to know, Doctor Watson?" the woman smiled at him and sat down on the floor by Sherlock's legs, resting her head against his knee and staring up at John with curious eyes. She didn't notice the look of jealousy flare up on the man's features at the intimacy between herself and the detective, or if she did, she decided not to point it out.

"I-" John began and frowned. Those eyes. Hard and calculating, yet caring and honestly interested. There was only one other person he'd seen that look on before; Mycroft. He let his gaze wander over the rest of her face, noticing for the first time the rather prominent cheekbones and wild curls, even darker than Sherlock's and almost reaching her hips.

"Very good, John!" Sherlock praised proudly when understanding started to show on the doctor's face.

"You have a sister? There is another one of you lot? Why didn't you tell me about her?"

"No one likes to talk about the bastard child." the woman shrugged.

"You know that is not the reason, Olivia." Sherlock protested and John managed to make out the faintest sight of guilt in his eyes.

"Don't worry about it, Lockie." Olivia smiled reassuringly, leaning into the hand he had placed on her head before looking back at John.

John bit his lower lip. He really wanted to find out more, not only about the woman, but also about Sherlock's past. He was curious, but he didn't want to push it, he knew there had to be reasons why Sherlock didn't talk about his family. Apart from the usual _'Caring is not important, John!'_, which simply couldn't be the whole truth.

"Alrighty then!" Olivia clapped her hands and Sherlock shifted uncomfortably. She ignored her brother. "A little over twenty years ago, Alistair Holmes made the mistake of shagging a random street worker, resulting in Olivia Amélie Fontaine. No one knew and everything was well until one day, a lady from social services turned up on the doorstep of the Holmes manor, informing everyone that said street worker had died of an overdose and she needed the biological father to take care of little Olivia."

"I had no idea-"

"Of course not, John. That was the point." Sherlock grunted impatiently.

"Don't be rude, Sherlock!" Olivia scolded and slapped his knee. The detective grumbled and lightly pushed her with his foot, earning himself a deadly glare.

"What happened next?" John asked quickly, trying to prevent an argument between siblings. His own fights with Harry were always vicious and having two _Holmses_ fighting was the last thing he needed right now.

"They took me in."

"That's nice." John smiled.

"Don't be an idiot, John!" Sherlock snapped and the doctor's eyes grew wide.

"If you keep being an insufferable git, you can leave." Olivia said sternly, challengingly raising an eyebrow.

"This is my flat."

"Like I care."

"Don't be a child."

"_You_ are the child. And you're being incredibly rude to John."

"He doesn't care."

John huffed and Sherlock ignored him.

"You are so utterly clueless sometimes, Lockie." Olivia sighed and turned back to John, leaving her brother to glower at the back of her head. "The reason they decided to take me in didn't have anything to do with love or a sense of family; they were afraid of the public's reaction if somehow they came to know about any of this. They made up some weird adoption story, I don't recall all of it, I was too young and, honestly, I don't really care."

"Oh." John looked over at Sherlock, who refused to meet his eyes and kept staring at the ceiling like it was the most interesting thing in the universe.

"Iris, Sherlock's and Mycroft's mother, died a couple of months later and Alistair was stuck with his bastard child. It wasn't all bad, though, as long as Sherlock was still around." she continued and fondly smiled up at the detective.

* * *

_"Noble gases." Sherlock said, his eyes never leaving his book._

_"Helium, neon, argon, krypton, radon and xenon." Olivia yawned, nuzzling her head into the crook of his neck._

_"Alkali metals." he demanded, one of his hands finding its way to the back of her neck, stroking softly._

_"Lithium, sodium, potassium, rubidium, caesium and francium. When can I help you with your experiments?"_

_"When you know all the elements and chemical reactions necessary to do so."_

_"I do!"_

_Sherlock proceeded to look at her over the rim of his book, raising a questioning eyebrow._

_"Most of them." she huffed, pressing into him, humming contently when she found a comfortable position. "Tell me a bedtime story!" _

_"No." Sherlock said half-heartedly, flipping over another page of the book. _

_"Pleeeeeeeeeeeeease!" Olivia whined, trying hard not to grin. _

_"Casse-pieds." Sherlock mumbled, but set the lecture aside._

_"Cinglé." the little girl smirked, knowing full well that she had already won her brother over. _

_"Wherever do you learn such words?" he chuckled, resting his chin on top of her head. _

_"Story!" she demanded again and with a slightly amused sigh, Sherlock began to talk about his current chemistry paper, his deep voice sending the girl off to sleep in no time._

* * *

Sherlock looked extremely uncomfortable at the amount of affection in Olivia's voice and John literally had to bite his tongue to keep himself from asking questions. They would go unanswered by his friend and he wasn't in the mood for one of the man's epic tantrums.

"When Sherlock left four years later, things started to get worse. Somewhere along the lines, Mycroft became my legal guardian and Alistair was glad to have me off his back."

"What do you mean _'when Sherlock left'_? Twelve years ago you were in your early twenties, you'd already finished university. Where did you-?" John mused, but then it dawned on him. He remembered the things Lestrade had told him about Sherlock's past, the state the DI had first found him in. "Oh." he swallowed hard.

"Precisely." Sherlock said, a pained expression on his face.

"Anyway." Olivia continued, one hand curled around her brother's ankle, running soothing circles over it with her thumb. "Alistair was glad to be rid of me and I lived with my brother. Which was extraordinarily dull_._" she grimaced and John had to chuckle at how much she resembled Sherlock in the way she scrunched up her nose. "There was school and later on uni and now I do a lot of...let's say travelling, shall we? I'm barely around, pop in every once in a while. I think eleven months was a bit long, though, Mycroft seemed thoroughly pissed this time." she concluded, unable to suppress a smug grin.

"Is it your life goal to drive the man insane?" John asked and quirked an eyebrow at the siblings, who shared an amused look.

"Nah, it's just a nice side effect." Olivia smirked and got up, ending the conversation with a change of subjects. "Let's order some take out, I'm hungry! Oh, Sherlock, I adjusted your experiment, the toenails were getting a little crispy. _Crispy chicken!_ I want crispy chicken fajitas!"

"Well, after that comparison, I definitely _don't._" John wrinkled his nose and joined her in the kitchen, rummaging through the drawer with the take out menus.

After a short discussion and a very sherlockesque pout from Olivia, they decided on curry, John got the phone to order and Olivia slumped down on the couch, bringing her legs up and hugging them to her chest.

"Where have you been?" Sherlock asked after a while.

"Humour me, oh Great Detective!"

"Maddox Street."

"That was hardly even a deduction, it's right around the corner and I have some of their matches in my coat pocket."

"You never left Europe."

"Very good."

"Switzerland and France."

"Mostly, yes."

"Did it help?"

"That's none of your business!" Olivia replied snottily and picked up John's newspaper, effectively dismissing her brother. John watched them from the kitchen and Sherlock didn't look satisfied. He tucked his knees under his chin - yes, John could _definitely_ see the family resemblance in the way they sulked - and stared at his sister, who didn't seem to mind his piercing glare like most people did and continued to read. John made tea and sat down on the sofa beside her, flicking on the telly.

"Do you mind?" he suddenly asked, remembering how Sherlock could get; _'Why do you watch this nonsense, John? Are you trying to lower your IQ even further?'_

"No, of course not, go ahead." Olivia smiled at him over the paper.

And so they sat and watched 'Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?' - for once without Sherlock shouting at the contestants - and waited for their food to arrive.

* * *

With a relieved sigh, Mycroft let himself fall back against the headrest of one of his cars. "Anthea, raise the security status for Olivia Holmes."

His assistant's eyes shot up and away from her blackberry instantly. "Of course. How is she?"

"I don't know." Mycroft admitted, barely resisting the urge to bite his lower lip. A nasty habit he had gotten rid of ages ago and wasn't inclined to start again.

"Do you want me to talk to her?" Anthea asked, raising an eyebrow. Sometimes she wondered if she would have taken the job if she'd known that it came with the task of sorting out her boss' emotional conundrums.

"Don't bother." Mycroft snorted and proceeded to stare out of the window.

_'The stubbornness!'_ Anthea thought, rolled her eyes and started typing a text.

* * *

_Mycroft watched the child with a rather unimpressed expression. After all, this had been bound to happen sooner or later. To her credit, the girl didn't seem to be very impressed by the events taking place around her either. Or maybe she couldn't comprehend what was happening, she was just a child, after all._

_With a sigh, Mycroft sat up a bit straighter and fixed his tie, the girl's eyes curiously following his every movement._

_"Do you know who I am?" He crossed his legs and raised an eyebrow at her._

_"Mycroft. A stupid name." the girl said nonchalantly, inspecting the old painting over the fireplace. "My brother." she added, looking back at him expectantly._

_Mycroft's lips twichted in annoyance and he was suddenly very glad that Sherlock had chosen not to attend their little 'family gathering'. "Do you know what happened to your mother?"_

_"Natalie died." the girl shrugged. "Because of the powder. It made her sick and then she died. The police came and took me away."_

_He didn't have the police reports yet, but they should be arriving shortly. Along with the files from the therapist and the social workers._

_"Can I read one of my books?" the girl asked, glancing at the backpack with her belongings._

_"You can read?" That was surprising. From what they'd been told, the girl hadn't left her mother's flat in almost three years, she never went to play group, kindergarten or any other such thing and didn't have any contact to anyone besides her mother._

_"I am almost five!" she exclaimed, looking deeply offended at his question._

_"Apologies. Of course, you may read one of your books." There was a slight hint of amusement in Mycroft's voice._

_Her eyes lit up and she slid to the floor, crossing her legs and pulling the bag into her lap. She opened it and produced four books, three of them looking pretty old and well read. The fourth one was brand new, likely one the social workers had given her. She placed one of them aside and proceeded to put the others in a neat pile._

_"This is my favourite one." she announced happily when she'd finished her task, holding a version of the Oxford Dictionary out to Mycroft._

_Mycroft frowned. "Why?"_

_"Because it's filled with smart words. Sometimes the people on the telly talk, but I don't understand what they are saying, because they use smart words. Natalie gave me this, she said it had all the smart words in it. I'm learning them so that I can understand what the grown-up people are talking about."_

_That was unusual, to say the very least. Mycroft scanned the other books more closely. Two history books, one about the Maya and one about the second World War. And a seemingly untouched medical journal about mental disorders in young children._

_"I stole that one." she said, following his gaze and grinning proudly._

_"Why?"_

_"I was trying to diagoose myself, because they wouldn't tell me anything." she shrugged._

_Mycroft froze. This was too familiar; he didn't have the best of experiences with a sibling self-diagnosing themselves. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "Diagnose." he corrected automatically. "Why do you believe that there is something to be diagnosed?"_

_"They look at me with sad eyes, like I have the flu or a scraped knee. But I don't and they made me talk to a therapist lady, so it must be in my head, right?" she asked, looking for confirmation._

_"You seem fine to me." Mycroft said eventually and the girl shrugged again._

_"Can you tell me smart words so I can look them up and see what they mean?" she asked hopefully, staring up at him with bright eyes._

_Mycroft pulled himself together and nodded. To his utter surprise and shock, the girl jumped up, walked over to him and climbed up on the armchair and into his lap, leaning back against his chest and tucking her head under his chin._

_"Go on, then." she demanded._

_What would a four year old consider to be a 'smart word'? "Alteration." he offered. Everything around her was about to change, it seemed fitting. He watched her eagerly open the dictionary and run her finger along the words, her lips moving silently as she read them._

_"It means that things are going to be different." she said after a while, turning a little to be able to look up at him._

_"Yes."_

_"I don't mind that, you know. That things around me are changing. Natalie didn't like me. And I didn't like her very much either. It's fine." she shrugged, shifting and leaning against him again. "Tell me another one."_

_"Pterodactyl." Mycroft tried, a smile tucking at his lips. He couldn't help himself, she was rather adorable. Almost unconsciously, he brought a hand up to her head, carefully running it through the dark curls. He pulled it back immediately when pictures of a five year old Sherlock, propped up on his lap, chatting on about his newest experiment, started flashing before his eyes._

_"It doesn't start with a 'T'." Olivia finally announced, tilting her head and looking to him for help._

_"Maybe you just didn't find it?"_

_She considered that for a moment before shaking her head. "I didn't make a mistake."_

_"Are you sure?"_

_"Does it have a silent letter? Like knee?" she asked, ignoring his question._

_"Yes."_

_"That is clever." she laughed cheerfully. "What is the silent letter?"_

_"P."_

_"You were trying to trick me."_

_"Indeed."_

_"I'm sorry." she mumbled after a moment and nuzzled against his chest._

_"About what?"_

_"Mycroft isn't a stupid name. That was mean."_

_"It is a rather stupid name." Mycroft sighed and could feel her chuckle against him._

_"It really is." she giggled and slipped a tiny hand into his bigger one, squeezing tightly._

* * *

Mycroft felt his mobile buzz just as he unlocked his front door.

**_22:28_**_ 'Still using Anthea for all the 'emotional nonsense', I see. OH'_

Rolling his eyes, he stepped into the flat, hung up his jacket and poured himself a glass of scotch before sitting down on the sofa. There already was another message waiting for him.

**_22:34_**_ 'I'm sorry. OH' _

**_22:35_**_ 'You should be. MH' _

**_22:35_**_ 'Posh bastard. OH' _

**_22:36_**_ 'Brat. MH' _

**_22:38_**_ 'Shut up, I know you love me. OH' _

Smiling to himself, he set the phone down and went to take a much needed shower. Dealing with one sibling was bad enough, having them both around at the same time had always been a challenge. There was another message when he stepped back into the living room half an hour later.

**_22:47_**_ 'I missed you, Myco. OH'_

* * *

The evening had been surprisingly pleasant, despite Sherlock watching the two of them like a hawk without saying a single word. But then again, both John and Olivia were used to the detective not talking for hours and didn't let it bother them.

Three hours after Mycroft's departure found Sherlock still sitting in his chair, busy cataloguing the day's events in his mind palace while John flicked through the channels, trying to find something to occupy his time with. Olivia was curled up against him, her head resting on his chest, sleeping peacefully. It was uncomfortable, he was going to ache all over tomorrow and he was quite sure that she hadn't done it consciously, but he didn't have the heart to wake her up, she looked exhausted. And if she was anything like her brother, this was probably the only rest she was going to get for the next couple of days.

Sherlock finally snapped out of his thinking when John shifted in his seat, causing Olivia to grunt in her sleep, mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like _'Stop moving, pillow!'_.

"Welcome back." John grinned, turning down the volume on the telly. "There's some left over curry in the fridge, in case you're hungry."

"I'm fine." Sherlock waved him aside and stretched.

"So...why have I never heard of this sister before?" John asked, carefully watching his friend's expression.

"There hasn't been any reason to mention her." Sherlock shrugged, looking tense and defensive.

"Look, I'm not an idiot. She was very elusive while telling her story and I've got a feeling that something...a bit not good happened to her."

"It doesn't concern you."

"But there is something?"

"It's none of your business, John!" Sherlock hissed angrily and Olivia stirred.

"All right. Fine." John sighed. "Where has she been, then?" he wondered, not quite able to drop the subject of the third Holmes just yet.

"You heard what she said."

"Well, yeah, but what...why did she leave? For nearly a year? And you didn't hear from her during that time? _At all?_"

"It's what she does." the detective shrugged again and John rolled his eyes.

"What about Mycroft? He's her legal guardian? How did that happen?"

"It's late." Sherlock announced, avoiding to meet John's eyes. He got up and carefully lifted his sister away from John, cradling her close to his chest.

"Sherlock, I'm your friend and...and you seem troubled. If you need to talk-"

"I'm fine, John. We are fine." he insisted and turned around, quickly vanishing into his room.

"No, you're obviously not." John groaned to himself, picking up the plates to rinse them. In the end, he placed them on the counter, not daring to touch whatever experiment of Sherlock's was currently growing in the sink. He filled a glass with water to place it on Sherlock's bedside table, a habit he had picked up after the pool incident. On the few nights the detective actually slept, he woke up screaming after only a few hours, plagued by nightmares he refused to share with John. For the lack of any other way to help, John had started to place some water in Sherlock's room every night. It was what he himself always craved after waking up from bad dreams, shivering and soaked in sweat.

"Sherlock?" he asked softly, carefully pushing at the half open door. He froze when he was presented with a sight so unexpected that he almost dropped the glass. Olivia was snuggled up in her brother's blanket, only her head and one foot sticking out from underneath. And then there was Sherlock, the self proclaimed sociopath, with his arm possessively thrown over his sister, pressing her against his chest in a fierce grip, his face nuzzled into her hair, snoring softly.

Something warm spread in John's chest at the sight and he put the glass down, retrieved a second blanket from the closet and draped it over the detective. He hesitated for a moment before brushing his thumb over Sherlock's cheek, a goofy smile forming on his lips when the detective leaned into the touch, humming in his sleep.

"Goodnight." John whispered and slipped out of the room.

* * *

"What?" Mycroft barked into his mobile a bit harsher than intended. But whoever was calling him on his private phone at two o'clock in the morning probably deserved his grumpiness.

_"Hello, son."_

Mycroft shot up, fully awake and alert in an instant. "Where did you get this number?"

_"A little birdie told me my baby girl is back in town."_ the man continued, completely ignoring him.

"I don't want you calling here. _Ever_. Am I making myself clear?"

_"Listen, all I want is a chance to talk to her-"_

"Stay away from my family!"

_"She is not yours!"_ the man on the other end of the line yelled and Mycroft could hear something shatter.

"If you value your life, you will stay away from Olivia. Do you understand me, _father_?" Mycroft hissed, spitting the last word in disgust.

_"Son, please-"_

Mycroft hung up, clutching the mobile in his shaking hand._ 'Deep breaths'_, he reminded himself, feeling his heart thump violently against his chest.

He quickly sent a text to Sherlock before throwing the phone to the end of the bed with an an angry, very uncharacteristic growl and burying himself back under the covers.

**_02:17_**_ 'He knows. MH'_

* * *

John trotted down the stairs to the bathroom, rubbing at his still half closed eyes and wondering if it was a sign of getting old that he couldn't even sleep a whole night without having to go for a pee. Not fully awake yet, he didn't notice the light shining out from under the bathroom door and pushed it open, only to have it slammed right back into his face.

"Stay the fuck out!" Olivia roared and he could hear the lock click.

"'m sorry... didn't see the light-"

"Idiot." she hissed and John had to grin and roll his eyes, it just sounded way too much like Sherlock. He was almost back by the stairs when he realised what he'd seen; Olivia, the dressing gown and jumper discarded on the floor, her top pulled up, revealing a rather vicious looking cut, probably infected, but it was hard to say from just one short glance. He quickly turned around.

"Are you all right?" the doctor asked through the door.

"Fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Leave me alone!"

"You can either open the door and let me in _or_ I can go and wake up your brother. Now, I don't really mind either way, but-"

The door was yanked open and John was pulled inside before Olivia slammed it shut again, glaring at him. "What do you want?"

"To have a look." he said softly and took a step towards her, causing her to take one back and away from him.

"Why?"

"You're hurt, I'm a doctor. It's what I do. Sometimes I even get payed for it, you know." he grinned, trying to lighten the mood. It didn't work.

"I'm fine. Go back to bed, John." she said, looking around desperetaly when her legs hit the tub and she had nowhere else to go.

"Olivia, please." he tried in his most soothing doctor voice. "Let me have a look. I won't touch you, I promise." He frowned at his own words, but she was acting like a scared animal and it seemed like the right thing to say.

Olivia sucked in her lower lip and stared at her feet and if John hadn't been waiting for it, he would have missed the nod, it was so subtle.

"All right. Lift your top, just a bit so I can see." he smiled encouragingly and she complied. He sucked in a breath at the sight of the wound. It was definitely infected. A couple of stitches were ripped open and bleeding. The rest didn't look much better either, the whole thing had been treated very carelessly.

"I just need some...I don't know, a band aid or something." Olivia tried to wave him away, knowing full well it wouldn't work when he snorted in disbelief.

"You need a little more than that, I'm afraid."

"No hospitals." she whispered, gripping the sink for support when she started to sway.

"Fine. Sofa, now." John sighed and reached out to take her arm, but she jumped away at the contact, almost toppling over and falling into the tub.

"Don't...I'm...it's...sorry." she stammered and blushed, brushing past him into the sitting room. Frowning, John followed, a bad feeling starting to work its way through his stomach.

"Lie down, I'll be right back." he said and shot her another calming smile before sprinting back to his room to gather his med kit. This was more than a bit not good. He briefly wondered if Sherlock knew about the injury and had simply decided not to tell him, but he dismissed that thought. Sherlock did a lot of downright idiotic things, but from what he'd seen, he deeply cared for his sister and definitely wouldn't let her hurt like this.

"This isn't going to be pleasant, is it?" Olivia grinned warily when he sat down on the floor next to the sofa.

"Afraid not. I'll have to redo all the stitches, they're-" he wrinkled his nose "-wrong."

"Well, I'm no doctor." she muttered under her breath and John's eyes snapped up to her face, away from the wound.

"You...you did this yourself?"

"Yes."

John did his best impression of a fish for a few more moments before shaking his head and focusing on his task. Halfway through opening the remaining stitches he felt a hand on his shoulder, holding on for comfort and twitching ever so slightly when he touched an especially sensitive area. Apart from that there was nothing; no complaining, hissing, screaming or annoyance. Which was a nice change from the way Sherlock usually behaved in such situations.

"All right?" he asked while putting on some dressing.

"Fine." Olivia tried, the weakness of her voice betraying her. John chose not to point that out and finished his task before joining her on the sofa, careful to leave enough space between them. They sat in silence for a few long minutes until Olivia spoke again.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it. You're a lovely patient, especially compared to Sherlock." John chuckled and was surprised when Olivia joined him. The cheerful atmosphere lasted for exactly half a minute until the shrill alarm of a car somewhere down the street startled her and made her almost climb into John's lap, pressing against him and burying her face in his shoulder. He could feel her heart beating much to fast against his own chest, her whole body trembling.

Suddenly, she scrambled back and away from him, staring at him with wide eyes, the shock about what she'd just done very visible on her face. "Sorry. I'm sorry." she repeated over and over again, frantically running a hand through her curls.

"It's fine. Don't worry." John smiled and tentatively reached out, brushing his own hand over her wrist. Olivia froze in her movements, tensing under his touch, not sure if to pull away or lean into it. "I'm not going to hurt you. I promise." John soothed. He didn't know why, but it seemed to work. Slowly, he curled his fingers around her wrist, pulling the arm away from her and towards himself, running his eyes over it. _'Clear signs of self-harm, cuts and burns, some of them years old and almost invisible, others fresh, not even completely healed yet.' _He let his eyes wander lower towards her hands and winced when he saw them, standing out on the typical marble Holmes skin.

Olivia squirmed under his gaze and pulled away, absently rubbing the thick scars on her wrist and chewing on her lower lip.

John opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again when words failed to come. What was one supposed to say in a situation like this? _'Sorry you tried to kill yourself.'_ - _'Shit, that looks nasty!'_ -_ 'Why did you do it?'. _Nothing seemed quite right, so he followed his instincts and slid closer, moving his arms around the girl - because really, looking at her now, all he could see was a frightened little girl - and pulled her into a hug, running a reassuring hand up and down her spine. For a moment he thought she would shove him away, be angry or even yell at him, but then he felt a pair of arms sneaking around his waist, two hands grabbing at his shirt and a chin being placed on his shoulder. And then there were tears, tears that turned into desperate sobs, only interrupted by the occasional hiccup and ragged breath.

_'Yes, very much not good.'_ John thought and tightened his hold.

* * *

**A/N:** Feedback makes me happy! And thanks to everyone who's been reading, favouriting, following or just reading this story so far. You people are awesome!


	4. Chapter 4 - Open Your Eyes

**A/N: **Here's the next chapter, sorry for the wait. Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Summary: **Olivia confronts John about his feelings for John and tries to make Sherlock realise his feelings for John. Mycroft's meddling, as usual, and Greg has no idea what's going on.

* * *

**Warnings: **swearing, (mild) violence

* * *

**Chapter 4 - Open Your Eyes  
**

**_08:15_**_ 'Isn't that what you've got your minions for? - SH'_

**_08:17_**_ 'You know how she is. - MH'_

**_08:20_**_ 'Too much like me, you mean? - SH'_

**_08:22_**_ 'Don't put words in my mouth, Sherlock. Keep an eye on her. - MH'_

**_08:24_**_ 'I am not taking orders from you, brother! - SH'_

Sherlock finally rolled out of bed, slightly annoyed with himself for having fallen asleep in the first place. There were far more important things than sleep right now. He strode into the bathroom, intending on taking a shower - he was still covered in glitter and mud from yesterday's case - but froze in the door. _'Olivia's jumper and gown in a messy pile on the floor, bloody. Not a life threatening amount. Good. Very good.'_

Relief rushed through his entire body and he stormed into the living room, but stopped in the door, unable to move for the second time in the span of thirty seconds._ 'How very tedious of my body.', _he huffed as he stared at the two figures on the sofa, jaw clenched.

John wasn't supposed to do that. Why was he holding Olivia like that? Why was she letting him? Only he was allowed to be this close to her. Well, he and Mycroft, but sod his brother right now. And John definitely wasn't allowed to be this close to her. She _wasn't_ John's. And John was _his_. Those dull women he called 'girlfriends' were bearable, he knew the doctor would, sooner or later, always come back to him. To make him tea, listen to his deductions and call him amazing and extraordinary and all sorts of things that made Sherlock smile one of his rare, honest smiles. But _his_ Olivia with _his_ John? Unacceptable!

They were his and Sherlock didn't like to share. Not one bit.

* * *

John woke up to something soft tickling his face and for a moment, he relished the feeling, blissfully unaware and indifferent about everything. He nuzzled his face into the mob of curls with a happy sigh, enjoying the warmth of the body on top of him. The body stirred, trying to move even closer and John brought his arms around it, squeezing softly, eliciting a sleepy murmur of contentment from Olivia. _Olivia_.

John's eyes snapped open and met Sherlock's.

"For fuck's sake, Sherlock! You can't do that! You scared me half to death."

"Do what?" Sherlock asked, with an edge to his voice, still hovering on the armrest of the sofa, giving John a look the doctor couldn't quite place.

_'Oh, great, one of _those_ days.'_, John thought and began to move away from under the girl, who protested and held on to him in her sleep, obviously not wanting the man to leave just yet.

"Tea?" John asked when he'd finally managed to sit up. Sherlock didn't answer and kept staring at the sleeping form of his sister. "Right." John rolled his eyes and went to the kitchen to prepare his own breakfast.

The silence didn't even last a full five minutes.

"Sherlock, you bloody fucking nutter, leave me alone!"

John almost dropped the can of beans and whirled around.

"You lied." Sherlock scowled accusingly, sitting on his sister's legs, fidgeting with the duvet while Olivia desperately held on to it, wriggling and trying to shake him off.

"Did not!" she protested, yanking the fabric back over her head.

"You're hurt."

"Never said I wasn't."

That effectively shut Sherlock up. For about two seconds. "You should have told me."

"I'm telling you now; Sherlock, I was mugged and got hurt. John fixed it. End of story. _Now get the fuck off!_"

The detective slid off the sofa and marched up to John, their noses almost touching. John swallowed hard. _'Keep it together, Watson.'_, he reminded himself and tried not to make it too obvious just how much Sherlock being this close affected him.

"You didn't tell me." Sherlock sounded almost hurt.

"I've been awake for about ten minutes, Sherlock. Besides, it's not my place to-"

"_Bollocks, John!_ You should have told me!" Sherlock roared, narrowing his eyes.

And John had had about enough. He wasn't a morning person and even if he'd been a morning person, he seriously doubted that he would have liked to deal with his friend's moods at this time of the day.

"What the_ hell_ is your problem, Sherlock? She's your sister and she decided not to tell you. Maybe you should be wondering why that is, huh?" the doctor barked and turned around, slamming the pot onto the counter with _a little_ more force than strictly necessary.

"Yes, what is your problem, Lockie? You seem a little tense." Olivia piped up from the sofa before the detective had a chance to fire back.

"Nothing. Shut up!" Sherlock hissed in his sister's direction and John could see her smirk._ 'Sisters'_, he thought and almost felt a little bad for Sherlock. _Almost_.

The tension was suddenly so thick, it could probably have been cut with the butter knife John was holding. But it seemed that Olivia decided to take pity on her brother.

"Do you want to see?" she asked with a sigh and Sherlock was by her side and on his knees in a heartbeat. He fumbled with her top, pushed it out of the way and started to work on the dressing. Olivia met John's eyes and shrugged before turning back to her brother, smiling at him affectionately, one hand moving to the nape of his neck to weave through the soft hair there.

"Knife, not very sharp. Happened only a day ago. Stitched up poorly the first time, probably by yourself. No, undoubtedly by yourself. Infected." Sherlock sat back on his heels and sucked in his lower lip. He looked positively distraught, John noticed.

"I'm fine, Lockie." Olivia smiled, but the detective wasn't convinced. "Come here, you dork." she grinned and lifted the duvet for him to climb under and snuggle up to her. Very carefully as if he was about to break her, Sherlock shifted them around until the girl was firmly placed in his lap, her head tucked under his chin and both of them wrapped up tightly in a blanket cocoon. All the while the detective murmured in French and Olivia rolled her eyes every so often, assuring her brother that she was 'perfectly all right'.

Meanwhile, John had completely forgotten his meal and was staring at the two of them with a mixture of jealousy and joy. Jealousy because he would have done almost everything to have Sherlock wrap his arms around him like that, to look at him with that utterly fond expression, to run his hand through his hair in such a loving way. And joy because it was nice to see the detective interacting with someone like the normal human being that he was - despite his refusal to acknowledge that fact. _'Sociopath my ass!'_

"Would it be too much to ask you for a cup of tea?" the girl suddenly asked, interrupting the doctor's thoughts.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, right. No. Not at all, that's fine." John stammered, mentally kicking himself. Sherlock shot him a puzzled look and Olivia grinned knowingly, raising an eyebrow at him. _'She knows. No, she can't know. For Christ's sake, John, you're losing it!' _

"So, what are you doing today, Sherlock? Is there a case?" the blonde asked and winced._ 'Nice save, idiot!'_

"Lestrade hasn't called." the detective answered, suspiciously narrowing his eyes at his friend.

"Did you check the website?" Olivia offered, sitting back and smiling at her brother.

After shooting each of them another doubtful gaze, Sherlock moved away from the girl and got up, retrieved John's laptop from the floor and flopped down in his chair.

"What are _you_ doing today, John?" Olivia wanted to know, joining him in the kitchen with a slightly disconcerting wink. "Thanks." she smiled when he handed her the tea.

"Not much. Some shopping." the doctor shrugged, wondering what the hell the younger Holmes sibling was up to.

"Great, I'll join you." Olivia beamed and snatched a piece of toast from John's plate.

"No, you won't." Sherlock said, not even bothering to look away from the screen. Olivia pulled a face and John had to bite back a chuckle.

"Unless you tie me up, I'm pretty sure I will."

"I do have the necessary utensils to tie you up and keep you in here."

"And you taught me the necessary skills to open every knot known to human kind."

"You're not going." Sherlock repeated in a tense voice.

"Give me one good reason why not."

The detective clenched his jaw and kept staring at the computer.

"That's what I thought. So, when are we leaving?" Olivia smirked triumphantly and turned back to John.

"You have to teach me how to do that."

"Open knots?"

"Win an argument with Sherlock." John sniggered and Olivia's grin grew even wider.

Sherlock shot them a filthy look and started to sulk.

* * *

Sherlock didn't notice the surprised expression on John's face when Olivia took his hand and pulled him down along Baker Street. But he gritted his teeth when she looked back over her shoulder, grinned in such an evil way only a little sister could manage, and winked at him.

If Sherlock had been thinking rationally, it would have been blatantly clear to him what his sister was trying - and succeeding - to do. He was jealous. Utterly and completely jealous. But Sherlock, being the emotionally oblivious idiot he had formed himself into over the last three decades, just stood at the window and glared at the two of them, wondering if he was about to get sick. Why else would his stomach hurt and twist, feeling like some greater power was having a blast tying knots into it?

The buzzing sound of his mobile brought him back to the room and he reached for it, opening the message.

**_09:42_**_ 'They seem to be rather close already, don't you think? - MH'_

**_09:43_**_ 'Sod off! - SH'_

In his office on the other side of London, Mycroft grinned down at his mobile. Only his brilliant baby brother could be so completely clueless about matters of the heart. And it was most definitely _not_ beneath Mycroft to relentlessly tease him about it.

* * *

**_11:02_**_ 'How long have they been dancing around each other like that? - OH'_

**_11:05_**_ 'Right from the beginning, I'm afraid. - MH'_

**_11:07_**_ 'It's unbelievably tiresome to see them so miserable about such a stupidly easy to solve problem. - OH'_

**_11:09_**_ 'Quite. I must say, it surprised me how you chose to approach the matter. - MH'_

**_11:10_**_ 'Bringing out his possessive side always works. Remember the situation with the French diplomat's bulldog? - OH'_

**_11:13_**_ 'I'd rather not. - MH'_

**_11:14_**_ 'Come on, it was funny as hell! - OH'_

**_11:16_**_ 'Not how I would refer to an only barely averted international crisis. - MH'_

**_11:17_**_ '_S_upercilious oaf. - OH'_

**_11:20_**_ 'Buy something colourful. All that black is depressing. It makes you look pale. - MH'_

**_11:25_**_ 'What are you, my style advisor? I am naturally pale, Mycroft. And do you always have one of your minions stalking women around clothing stores? - OH'_

**_11:27_**_ 'I am most certainly not going to dignify that with an answer. And it would be much appreciated if you could return my credit cards. - MH'_

**_11:30_**_ 'Hey, at least I am only buying necessities. Last them Sherlock got a hold of one of them, he ordered a dozen fridges and had them delivered to your flat. - OH'_

**_11:32_**_ 'Don't remind me. Enjoy the rest of your shopping trip. - MH'_

Olivia smirked, pocketed her mobile and handed the cashier the golden piece of plastic.

* * *

"John, how long have you known my brother?" Olivia asked, absently stirring her tea and chewing her lower lip.

"Almost a year now. Blimey, time runs when you have a mad genius to look after." the doctor chuckled and frowned when the girl kept staring down at her cup. "Something wrong?"

Dropping the spoon, Olivia sighed and finally looked up at him, meeting his eyes. "And how long have you been in love with him?"

John choked on his own tea and it took him a minute of coughing until he regained the ability to speak. "_What?_"

"You heard me perfectly well." Olivia scowled in the typical Holmesian 'Don't waste my time with inane questions!' way.

"I am not...we are not...we haven't...I'm not gay." John stammered, a blush creeping up his neck to his ears.

"You are a terrible liar, John. You care for Sherlock a great deal, otherwise you wouldn't put up with all his rubbish. Your eyes keep staying on him for far too long to be considered normal between friends. Every time he touches you, you lean into it almost desperately and keep brushing your hand over the part of your body that came into contact with him. Oh, and let's not forget the jealous glares directed towards me before you knew about the nature of our relationship - which I _have_ noticed, obviously."

John stared down at his hands, gripping the cup so hard he promptly loosened them a little in fear of breaking it. But he didn't trust himself to say anything. _'You'll just make things worse.'_

"Silence? Well, that's bound to work. I'm sure if you keep that up for a few more months he'll eventually realise the true nature of your feelings towards him." Olivia said, sarcasm dripping from every word.

John's eyes snapped up again and he looked at her, pleadingly. "He can't know. You can't tell him."

"Why not?" The sarcasm was replaced with honest curiosity.

"He isn't interested in any form of romantic relationship, he made that very clear right at the beginning."

Olivia snorted, waving his argument aside. "Did he give you his 'I am married to my work!' line? You realise that opinions can change, right? Give me another reason!" she demanded, linking her hands, fingers coming to rest on her lips.

John groaned and rubbed his eyes. "Look, I really don't want to discuss this. It's complicated and-"

"You _will_ talk about this, or I'm going to walk back home right now and tell him myself how you feel about him." the curly-haired girl said sternly, challengingly raising both eyebrows.

John searched her face for a sign that she was joking and swallowed hard when he couldn't find anything. "I am not gay?" he offered.

"Is that a question? Are you asking me?"

"No, it's just I've never lo-" the doctor cut himself off and rubbed his face again, slacking down further into his chair.

"You've never been in love with another man?" Olivia asked softly and John nodded. "But you've been with men before, so this attraction and the feelings, surely they can't come as a complete surprise to you?"

"How do you know that I've been with-" John gaped, remembered that he was talking to a Holmes and rolled his eyes, unable to hide a little smile starting to tuck at his lips. "I have been with men, but never like that. It was always just, you know, for the release."

They sat in silence for a while, John refusing to meet Olivia's eyes, but very aware of the fact that she was practically picking apart his brain simply by staring at him. It probably would have bothered him if he didn't have a flatmate who did this on a regular basis to gain information John didn't want him to have.

"You are afraid." Olivia stated suddenly.

"Terrified."

"Why?"

"You Holmeses really don't understand _'normal people emotions'_, do you?" John chuckled.

"Well, enlighten me."

"As I said, Sherlock isn't interested in that kind of relationship, he told me that the very day we met. And even if he were interested, who knows if it'd be men? It could be women! And I'm not even sure if he ever had - if he ever was in a relationship with someone. Oh, and there's everyone else. Going from straight to gay is no easy step, you know." John took a deep breath and fumbled with his napkin, feeling beyond uncomfortable by now.

"So you're scared of rejection? By Sherlock? And other people, people from work, the Yard?"

"I'm such a coward." the man sighed sadly.

"I'm sure you're a lot of things, John, but a coward isn't one of them." Olivia smiled and took his hand, squeezing it encouragingly. "And you realise that there are more options than 'straight' and 'gay', yeah?" she added with a grin.

The doctor chuckled a bit at that, but sobered up pretty quickly. "Can you please not tell Sherlock about this? I - what we have right now, our friendship...I don't want to jeopardise all that."

"My lips are sealed. Promise. Now, how about some more cake? Mycroft's paying." the girl smirked, jumped up and walked over to the counter.

_'Great, just great, John. She's been here for less than a day and already knows what took you almost a year to figure out. This can only end in tears.'_, John thought, burying his face in his hands._  
_  
"What are you smiling about, dearie? That your boyfriend over there?" the elderly woman behind the counter asked Olivia, nodding at John.

"Him? Oh, no. No, he's head over heels for my brother, but too scared to do anything about it, because he doesn't have a clue that my brother feels exactly the same way about him. He doesn't even know my brother's gay, he _really_ is clueless. But then again, I don't think my brother realises how he feels about him either. Men, am I right? Oh, and the funny thing is that the fact that he could just ask me about my brother's sexual preferences went completely over his head. Now, some more tea and two of those lovely lemon scones, please. They do smell absolutely delicious!" Olivia rambled on without taking a single breath, shooting the by now wide-eyed lady an excited smile while giddily bouncing up and down on her toes.

* * *

**_12:47_**_ 'He actually thinks Sherlock isn't interested. How daft can a person be? - OH'_

**_12:50_**_ 'Your brother isn't making things easy. - MH'_

**_12:52_**_ 'Nothing's ever easy with Sherlock. - OH'_

**_12:54_**_ 'I noticed. - MH'_

**_12:57_**_ 'Oh, don't go all suffering older sibling on me, you twat. You know exactly why he is how he is. It's not his fault. - OH'_

**_12:59_**_ 'I do agree that he had to go through some rather unpleasant things when it comes to relationships. That's no excuse for acting like a stubborn child, though. - MH'_

**_13:02_**_ 'If I remember correctly, you were the one who taught him that caring was a bad thing. And now you wonder why he's all screwed up when it comes to emotions? Please! - OH'_

**_13:05_**_ 'Do not blame me for Sherlock's inability to interact with other people. - MH'_

**_13:07_**_ 'I'm not blaming you for that. I'm blaming you for not being there for him when he needed you and for leaving him. For leaving us. - OH'_

**_13:07_**_ 'Ollie, please. - MH'_

**_13:08_**_ 'Sorry. You know I don't really mean that. - OH'_

**_13:10_**_ 'I wish things would have gone differently. I never intended for any of this to happen. - MH'_

**_13:11_**_ 'What's done is done. - OH'_

**_13:15_**_ 'You know I would do everything in my power to make things right again, if there was any way to do so. - MH'_

**_13:16_**_ 'Don't worry about it. We'll be fine. We always are. - OH'_

**_13:17_**_ 'Then stop running. - MH'_

**_13:17_**_ 'Please. - MH'_

**_13:20_**_ 'Don't go there, Myco. See you tonight. -__ OH'_

* * *

"Three hours and the flat looks like a bomb went off in it." John groaned, putting the shopping bags down on the kitchen counter.

"You shouldn't have stayed out that long, then." Sherlock mumbled, his eyes fixed on one of the beakers on the table.

"I do have a life of my own, Sherlock. Not everything revolves around you."

"It should." the detective pouted and John rolled his eyes, starting to put away the groceries.

"Don't be grumpy, Lockie." Olivia smiled sweetly, coming up behind her brother and resting her chin on his shoulder. "I brought you a present."

"Not interested."

"Yes you are. Just open it, you git." she said, sounding rather unimpressed and putting a plastic bag in front of him.

Sherlock sighed very dramatically and reached for it. He reached inside, producing a Tupperware full of-

"Are those _eyes_?" John demanded.

"Pig eyes, don't throw a fit." Olivia waved a dismissive hand.

"I've been carrying around a bag of pig eyes for the better part of the morning?"

"Yes."

"Where did you even get them?"

"I know people."

"Of course you do." the blonde sighed again and returned to his task. "Don't you dare put them anywhere near the food I just bought!" he added, throwing Sherlock a warning glance over his shoulder.

"I wouldn't dream of it." Sherlock smirked and John knew it would only take a couple of hours for the eyes to start appearing in the strangest places all around the flat.

"What does one say when one's sister buys them body parts for experiments?" Olivia raised an eyebrow at her brother and John faced them curiously. _'If he says 'thank you', that would certainly be a first for him.'_

"This present isn't as unpleasant as I suspected it to be."

"Meh, close enough." the girl shrugged and grabbed Sherlock's face, placing a wet kiss on his cheek before moving to the sitting room and flopping down on the sofa. The detective grunted and scrubbed at the kissed cheek.

John smiled to himself and put on the kettle.

* * *

"John! We have a case, hurry up!" Sherlock yelled from the sitting room, already putting on his coat and scarf.

"No need the shout." John muttered when he appeared in the door. "Where are my shoes?"

"I burned them."

"You did _what?_ Why?"

"That's not important. Find another pair. Hurry up!" Sherlock ordered, pushing him back towards the stairs. "You too, get ready." he told his sister, who was lounging on John's armchair, eyes closed and one arm hanging down onto the carpet.

"I'm busy." came her reply.

"No, you're not."

"Fine, I just don't want to tag along and wait around in cabs while you dash around London. It's boring." she sighed and opened one eye to glare at him.

"This is not up for discussion!"

"Sod off." Olivia groaned, closing her eye again and turning her head away.

"Leave her alone, Sherlock. I'm sure she won't destroy the flat while we're out. Not anymore than you already have, anyway." John said, having found a new and unburned pair of shoes.

"Hail a cab, we'll be out shortly."

"Sherlock, why-"

"_John, go!_" Sherlock barked and John scrambled out of the door, glad to escape his friend's wrath.

"You shouldn't shout at him like that. It's mean." Olivia said once she'd heard the front door slam shut.

"Get up."

"Why?"

"Because you are coming along."

"Yeah, I don't think so."

"I am your brother and you are to listen to me!" Sherlock shouted agitatedly and Olivia turned around, a confused and hurt expression on her face. "Ollie, please." he added softly and held out a hand.

"What's going on? Why are you acting all protective and concerned? I have Mycroft for that and that's more than enough." She looked at him warily, biting her lower lip and frowning.

"Please?" Sherlock repeated, wiggling his fingers invitingly.

"Fine." Olivia sighed and got up, purposefully ignoring the hand and moving towards the coat rack, but Sherlock grabbed her arm and pulled her close. "What now?" she groaned.

"Trust me." Sherlock whispered, resting their foreheads together.

"Always." Olivia said after a moment and, relieved, Sherlock pressed a kiss to her forehead before shoving her out of the flat and into the waiting cab.

* * *

"Took you long enough." Olivia complained as soon as John and Sherlock stepped out of the missing girl's student dorm and walked towards the police tape. "I thought my brain was going to explode out of sheer boredom."

"As a doctor, I can assure you that that's very unlikely to happen." John laughed and the girl sighed overly dramatic, grinning back at him, resting her head against the blonde's shoulder.

"Find anything good, at least?"

"Moderately interesting, yes." Sherlock mumbled absently, typing away on his phone. "We're meeting Lestrade at the-"

"Would you look at that? The freak's got himself another fan."

Sherlock merely rolled his eyes in annoyance and started to walk away. He turned back around when John tugged at his sleeve. "What? _Oh._"

"Hey, you can't do that!" Sally Donovan protested when Olivia ducked under the tape and walked towards her. She was ignored.

"What did you just call him?"

"What are you-"

"_What did you just call him?_" Olivia sneered, fists clenched tightly at her sides.

"A freak! That's what he is. And who are you?" Sally demanded, hands on her hips, ready for a fight.

"He is _not_ a freak." Olivia said, her voice dangerously low.

"He gets off on this. He likes it. I reckon that makes him a pretty fucked up freak." Sally grinned challengingly. Anderson, having heard the commotion, appeared behind her, immediately straightening up and taking on a battle stance when he spotted Sherlock.

Olivia closed her eyes for a second and took a deep breath. John looked up at Sherlock questioningly, but the detective didn't move or say anything, his eyes fixed on the scene unfolding before them.

"He gets off on it? Like you get off on sleeping with a married man?" Olivia spat, eyes blazing with anger. "He won't leave her for you, you know. Not now that she's pregnant. What? You look surprised. Oh, didn't he tell you? Ah well, doesn't matter anyway, now that he's planning on breaking up with you. I mean, it's understandable, he found someone younger and more gullible, and maintaining a marriage and two affairs is a bit much, don't you agree?"

By now, a considerable amount of officers had gathered around them, talking behind their hands and shaking their heads at their colleagues.

"How dare you!" Anderson hissed, clearly embarrassed. "Who do you think you are? Is she one of your freak friends?" he demanded, glaring at Sherlock.

Olivia took another step closer, standing in Anderson's personal space now. "_He is not a freak!_"

"Get away from me!" Anderson took a step back, frowning at the enraged girl in front of him.

"If I hear you insulting him again, I will break every single bone in your worthless body. And I'll enjoy it. Immensely."

"Are you threatening me?" Anderson gaped disbelievingly, his expression mimicked by John, Sally and half of the present yarders.

"Yes." Olivia frowned in a 'Wasn't that obvious?' kind of way.

"I am a police officer-"

"And I am the kind of girl who doesn't give a flying fuck if she spends the night in a cell for punching a stupid arse in the face. Your choice, _Sir._"

Anderson swallowed, eyes darting from Sherlock to John and Sally before he shook his head and turned around, walking back into the house. Sally, with one last glare at the girl, quickly followed.

Olivia let out a breath and turned without another word, kicking over a bin before walking away around the corner to the main street. John barely had the time to collect himself before Sherlock took his elbow and started off after his sister.

"John, cab." Sherlock ordered absently, reaching for Olivia and pulling her close to his chest. It was only now John realised that she was shaking. He quickly hailed a cab and they climbed in, Olivia tucked in between them, none of them speaking a word for the first couple of minutes.

"John, would you open the window, please?" the girl asked after a while. John complied and jumped slightly when an object was thrown out of the car and shattered on the street.

"Christ! What was that all about?" he asked, rolling the window back up.

"Anderson's phone."

John gaped at her for a moment, trying to process what _exactly_ had happened at the crime scene. He gave up eventually and began to snigger, soon joined by Sherlock's deep chuckle and Olivia's light giggle.

The cabbie watched them in the rear view mirror, shaking his head at the three nutters he had picked up.

* * *

"What are we doing here, Sherlock?" John asked as they walked up to the small pub. The detective ignored him and rushed over to a potted plant, scooping up a hand of dirt and letting it run back down through his fingers.

"The missing girl worked here." Olivia explained, trailing along behind them, trying to appear bored. John tilted his head and ran his eyes over her. _'Shoulders tense, nervously flicking her fingers and chewing her lips. She's still on edge. Upset.'_, he deduced, immediately followed by another thought; _'Holy shit, I'm turning into Sherlock!'_

Before he had a chance to ask any more questions, a police car appeared and Lestrade stepped out. "You're already here." He sounded tired. "Good to see you, John." he smiled before calling over to the consulting detective. Sherlock murmured his acknowledgement and continued inspecting the exterior of the house.

"Good to see you too, Greg." John said, shaking the DI's hand.

"Who's that?" Lestrade frowned, nodding at Olivia, who had unconsciously stepped a bit closer to John, seeking the security of the slightly more familiar man.

"Ophelia. Intern. At the surgery." Sherlock said absently, having completed his inspection and joining them. "Isn't that right, John?"

"Err...yes. Yes, that's right." _'Bloody Sherlock and his stupid ideas! He could at least inform me before he makes up cover stories.'_

"You can't just bring along anyone you want, Sherlock. We talked about this. I'm breaking enough rules as it is involving you and John." Lestrade sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I'm terribly sorry, Detective Inspector." Olivia smiled sweetly, holding out her hand to him. There was no trace of the previous irritation left on her face. "It's a pleasure to meet you. A real Detective Inspector from Scotland Yard, that's so exciting!" She beamed at him when he took her hand and shook it. "I didn't mean to cause you any trouble, it's just that we're a bit short staffed at the surgery at the moment. Mr Watson was the only working doctor today. And, according to the rules, he can't leave me there on my own and he's too cheap to send me home before my time's up. So he had to bring me along, but don't worry, I'll be waiting outside and trying not to get in your way."

John gaped at her, only closing his mouth when Sherlock subtly elbowed his side. _'So, acting runs in the family, then.'_

"That's quite all right, no worries." Lestrade smiled back at her and Sherlock and John shared a quick, amused glance. "Let's get on with it, shall we?" the DI asked, motioning for the detective and the doctor to go in before him, but Sherlock hesitated.

"Ophelia will be coming with us." Sherlock decided, gently taking his sister's elbow and tugging her along.

"Sherlock, what-"

"Sorry about that, Detective Inspector. I think he fancies me a bit, probably wants to show off and try to impress me." Olivia winked at them over her shoulder.

John had to bite the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from laughing out loud, wishing he could see the detective's face right now. Lestrade just looked bewildered by the idea that Sherlock Holmes could be fancying _anyone_.

In the end the DI simply shrugged and sighed. "Fine, whatever." he muttered, following them inside.

* * *

_'I am going to kill them both!'_, John thought angrily, running after Sherlock, who was trying to catch up with Olivia, who was dashing after the exact same guy who had mugged her two days earlier - at what had to be lightning speed.

The interview with the missing girl's former employer was going surprisingly well. Sherlock had managed to only insult him twice until now, a third time being prevented by John raising a stern eyebrow at him. Gary Parker, the owner of the club, didn't appear to know anything about the disappearance of one of his waitresses. He was the one who had called the police when she had failed to show up for work three nights in a row.

" It's not like 'er, yew know? Blimey, she's always been very reliable an' all that. Nuff said, yeah?"

"Has she been different lately? Shown any signs of fear or distress?" Lestrade asked and Gary shook his head.

" She was lovely as usual, yew know? Allus 'appy an' smiling, friendly an' all that, yew know? Nuff said, yeah?"

Olivia rolled her eyes and mouthed 'Twenty-three!' at John, who managed not to snigger at the girl counting the times Gary said 'Nuff said, yeah?'.

In the background, Sherlock was pacing around, no doubt taking in every single detail of the pub. Behind the bar, a door opened and a man with three cases of beer walked in, his head completely hidden behind the crates.

"Ey, Gary. Where do you want me to put tho-" he asked, stopping mid sentence and staring at Olivia with wide eyes. "_You!_" he yelled in surprise and dropped the beer before shoving Gary to the ground and making a run for it. Olivia followed immediately and Sherlock had the good grace to grin and shout _"The mugger!"_ before running after them.

John could hear Lestrade behind them, panting and talking into his radio. In front of him, Sherlock was gaining ground and disappeared around a corner after the man and his sister. John reached them just in time to see Olivia violently ram the guy's face into a nearby wall, the nasty crack making it very clear that at least the nose was broken.

"Ollie, stop!" Sherlock hissed, the previous joy about having found the guy vanishing from his features. He placed a careful hand on his sister's shoulder. She shrugged him off.

"Shut up!" Olivia glared at him.

"You kan't do diss-" the man protested, the blood flowing down into his mouth making it hard to talk.

"Do what? You tripped and fell face first into the wall."

"Did no-" the man began, only earning himself a repetition of his previous treatment.

John winced when he heard another crack and the mugger slumped to the floor, clutching his face.

They all turned at the sound of Lestrade's voice. "What the _fuck_ happened?"

"Idiot ran into a wall." Olivia shrugged and the man on the ground - much to John's surprise - nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, right." Lestrade sighed and took out a pair of handcuffs.

It didn't take long for two other police cars and an ambulance to arrive in the alley. Lestrade was busy with the bleeding and struggling man, while Sherlock indulged John, explaining that he had actually found a clue back at the bar that indicated the girl had indeed run away with her lover and not been kidnapped.

"That's brilliant, Sherlock." John smiled and could feel himself blush when the detective proudly beamed at him. "But why does the guy who assaulted your sister show up at the same pub we are to gather evidence for another case?" he mused.

"Coincidence."

"So you admit that sometimes, things just happen? For no reason? No big scheme, no bad guy plotting anything?" the doctor grinned, knowing just how much it annoyed his friend when things happened by chance.

Sherlock glared and was about to start pouting when a commotion coming from the ambulance interrupted him.

"Don't touch me!"

"Ah, yes." the detective sighed, walking over with quick strides.

"Miss, you are hurt. I should really have a look at your head." the medic tried in his most soothing voice, but Olivia pushed further back against the car and away from him.

"If you touch me, I'm going to break your hands!" she snarled, her whole body trembling violently.

"Miss, please we-"

"She's not joking. She rarely jokes about such matters." Sherlock said and Olivia used the opportunity to slip away and hide behind John who, for the first time, noticed the gash above her eyebrow.

"You all right?" he asked, reaching out to touch her head.

"Leave me alone!" the girl hissed and swapped his hand away. It was in that moment that the sleek black car pulled up next to them. The door practically flew open and Mycroft stepped out, shooting a filthy look in Sherlock's direction before turning to Olivia.

"Get inside." he said coolly, but one look at his eyes made it blatantly clear how enraged he actually was.

"Je t'emmerde!" Olivia snapped, hopped over the hood of the car and vanished in a side alley, Sherlock on her heels.

"Sherlock!" Mycroft called after him and the detective turned around for a second, but only to flip his brother off.

"What the bloody hell?" John demanded. _'I need a fucking vacation!'_

"Fancy a ride?" Mycroft asked in a voice that made it clear it wasn't really a question. John sighed and slid into the car. Mycroft, after shooting Lestrade an apologetic look, followed and they drove off.

"Bloody Holmeses." the DI groaned, kicking at a pebble.

* * *

"Sir?"

"Yes?" Alistair Holmes sighed, putting down the file and turning around on his chair.

"Tanner has been arrested, Sir."

"Tanner?" Mr Holmes asked, raising a confused eyebrow.

"The man we hired to scare your daughter, Sir."

"He won't talk." Mr Holmes calmly waved his assistant aside.

"Your sons are involved."

"_What?_"

"It was a rather unfortunate coincidence, Sir. It appears a case led your youngest son to Tanner's workplace. Your daughter was with him and Tanner panicked."

Mr Holmes groaned and rubbed his eyes. "Mycroft?"

"We are not sure, Sir. He was at the scene, though we don't know why."

"Well, it seems we have to make sure my sons won't get a chance to extract any information from Mr Tanner, won't we?"

"Yes, of course, Sir." the assistant nodded and quickly left the office.

* * *

**A/N:** 'Je t'emmerde!' means 'Screw you!' and reviews make giddy with joy!


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